


The Future

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Companionable Snark, Drunkenness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It's nice, to see Solas actually smile.





	The Future

Varric was pleasantly drunk.

They’d cracked open a bottle of _old_ Orzammar whiskey they’d picked up from a merchant passing through the Hinterlands, and the buzz was well-settled over his shoulders. He’d still remember this all tomorrow, that much was true, but he didn’t want to make too much of a fool of himself, and so he settled pleasantly under the haze of the drink, watching around the tavern.

The Inquisitor was Andraste knows where, but pretty much everyone else was around. Cullen and Josephine were sitting at the side of the room, talking with Cassandra; Iron Bull was armwrestling with Blackwall, the two of them laughing with one another as they found themselves evenly matched, and Varric didn’t miss the way that Dorian was watching them both _eagerly_, looking delighted at the show. Sera was asleep, leaning back against Josephine’s legs, but her fingers were still loosely gripping the bow in her lap... Even Vivienne was here, speaking quietly with a young woman who’d come from Orlais last week, a merchant.

Varric turned his head. Solas and Cole were sitting at the same table with him, and Solas has his hands out, his palms facing the ceiling, and Cole copied him, sitting in the same position. A red glint shimmered between them, jumping between the four palms, and every now and then one of them would try to grab it, but it would slip between their fingers.

When Cole’s palm finally enclosed the red light, he laughed like it tickled, wriggling in his place, and fell backward onto the floor. There was a soft look in Solas’ crinkling eyes as he reached to help the kid up, and Varric didn’t hear what he said before he disappeared, filtering upstairs, but Solas smiled...

“He’s a good kid, Chuckles,” Varric said, and Solas turned to look at him.

“I am glad,” he said softly, “that you and the Iron Bull have taken so well to him. He is as yet so uncertain of humans, try as he might to fit in with them. You each set him at ease.”

“Like I said,” Varric said. “Good kid.”

“Master Tethras,” Solas said, smiling as he leaned slightly across the table, “you are _drunk_.”

“Maybe I am,” Varric agreed, “but you are _smiling_, Chuckles. I would guess _you’re_ drunk too.”

“It was good whiskey.”

“It _was_!” Varric agreed, slamming his hand on the table, and Solas laughed. He _laughed_! The bastard actually laughed! Varric leaned in toward him a little, and Solas sighed, closing his eyes, his head tipping back against the beam behind him. “Well, look at it, Chuckles. This is it. This is what the Inquisition is fighting for.”

“Strong dwarven spirits?” Solas asked, arching an eyebrow without opening his eyes.

“Nah. International unity. Look. We got Free Marchers, Tevinters, Orlesians, Nevarrans, Antivans, all having fun... Humans, Qunari, elves, dwarves. This is it, you cheerful bastard. This is the future.”

Solas’ eyes opened. He looked around the room, and the smile lingered on his face, but it was sadder, smaller. Varric felt the room spin a little less pleasantly as he realised that, somehow, he’d said the wrong thing. 

“It’s a lovely thought,” he said, meeting Varric’s gaze. “Truly."

“You up for a game of cards?”

“No,” Solas murmured. “No, I ought back to my bed, I fear.”

“You don’t want to stay out longer, gamble, see if you end up in somebody else’s?”

“And who else’s bed do you imagine my tumbling into?” Solas asked, laughing softly. “Madame de Fer’s? Ambassador Montilyet’s? Perhaps that of Scout Harding?”

“I don’t know,” Varric said, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess I thought maybe Sparkler had caught your eye.”

“No,” Solas murmured. “Dorian is far too young, and regrettably too male, for my liking. In any case, with such a display going on before him, I doubt that he’d be seduced by _me_ even if I wanted to make the effort.” Too young. It was a funny thing to say - Dorian was young, sure, but it’s not like he was still in his twenties. It was hard to tell with elves, but Solas looked about forty to Varric, fifty at the very oldest...

Varric followed Solas’ gaze back to Dorian, who was red-faced with drink and sprawled on the ground. Blackwall and Bull were arguing about something, shoving one another and growling and laughing in turns, and Dorian looked as though he was floating somewhere above the clouds as he played the willing audience.

“Yeah,” Varric murmured. “I see that.”

“Good night,” Solas murmured, slowly standing to his feet. “Do enjoy the night as you will.”

“You too, Chuckles,” Varric said, and with nary even a tipsy sway, Solas made his way out of the tavern.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). Please comment if you can!


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